Covered.

As we walked into the mosque, I felt this pressure on my chest.

My heart feels tugged,

burdened, and heavy.

I can’t seem to breathe as I walk into this atmosphere. 

 

My head covered by my hijab, my eyes barely visible, and my identity a mystery to those around me. I walk around praying! (wow, how I feel my heart burdened and heavy for the people here) The oppression I feel – the weight of this region – falls on me – piercing my heart. 

 

I ask the Lord, “Show me your heart for these people. Let me feel how you feel!” I am heartbroken. My heart is shattered. The only thing I can do is sit on the floor, with my tears, with nothing to stop the constant stream of tears flowing from my eyes.

 

I sit in the corner and watch as people pass. 

 

 

In front of me is this section blocked off for only men to worship. They kneel before the altar and go through the routine – a progression of steps, kneeling at the altar, and saying rehearsed prayers.

 

My heart breaks. This emptiness. The routine.

 

A series of steps with no purpose and lost hope, an empty faith, an empty system of beliefs. They are putting faith in something that they believe works to get to heaven. And after all of this, maybe just maybe, you will be good enough to enter heaven at the end of this life. Maybe just maybe, you will have to go to hell for a while. And maybe just maybe, you can pay to get out and go to paradise.

Nothing is certain.

Nothing is clear.

It’s an empty search of thinking you can work your way into heaven.

Maybe if I’m good enough, I will get to enter paradise, if my god allows it.

 

What is that like, to not be sure? For everything to rely on how good you are? Your works, what you do, and maybe that will be just enough to get you into paradise. 

 

You may think the Muslim faith to be very different than your own if you are a believer in Christ. You may have these stereotypes of what you believe people in the Muslim faith act like, talk like, believe, and live like. You may think they are much different than you are in your Christian beliefs – but the reality is, they are so close.

 

They are so incredibly close.

  

They have been brought up in faith so closely related to us but missing such huge components. They are missing Jesus Christ, the hope of our salvation through Him, and the redemption of our sins through Him. The grace and love of our Heavenly Father and how nothing we can do will earn our way into heaven but grace and grace alone. How God has loved us first far before time. 

 

You may think we are much different, but I need you to know, were not.

 

They believe in the Bible. They believe in Jesus Christ. They believe in the Holy Spirit and having a personal relationship with God.

 

Time and time again I have conversations with Muslims about their faith and they have something to counter everything I say. The truth is, their faith has been built on a false prophet and a false god. 

 

But you can imagine, these conversations aren’t easy.

 

As I am sitting in my corner of the mosque, before the alter that I am not allowed into because I am a woman, I am hit with the heaviness of the oppression of women in this country. (wow, again how my heart aches but specifically now for ALL the women here.) My heart breaks more and I’m left crying out to God through my tears and prayers on the carpet floor of this mosque amidst the many people filtering through. 

 

As I am sitting there, a group of women came around me. Young women my age. They are fully covered in black with only their eyes showing.

  

How I describe it: fully covered in darkness.

 

In a religion that takes away women’s identity, covering them in full darkness and teaching them that they are not worthy enough to come before god-like men are. That they deserve to be fully covered in darkness and stripped of full identity. That they can watch from afar as men worship before the altar of Allah and they must go to their section in the dark corner. 

 

My heart breaks. The weight is unbearable. So many around don’t know the life, the hope, the love, the joy of Christ. The beauty of their identity as He has created them to be. 

 

As I’m sitting among the women and I sob, the men from our squad come into the mosque. I stare at them from across the mosque directly at their eyes, and they never see me.

I am sobbing but no one knows.

No one can see.

No one cares.

Some of my closest friends don’t even recognize me as they stare directly at me. 

 

What must that feel like? Being unidentifiable. Unrecognizable. Covered in darkness. To cry with no one knowing. To see but never been seen. To not have any worth and told your whole life to remain in the darkness. To remain covered. For no one to even know who you are or see you in a room. How that must affect a person? How they may cry behind the clothes that cover their face! How many want to truly be seen!

 

If my heart wasn’t shattered enough already, I make my way to the designated prayer area for women. I pass through the walls that separate men and women and I am stricken with pain and heartache. I thought my heart couldn’t shatter more but the immense amount of heaviness, but this I felt was almost unbearable.

 

I sat behind the wooden gate and peered through the holes. I watch women kneel down and pray in the dark corner of the room. I am shaking in disbelief. How could this be? How could this be a religion so many are so devoted to? I sit on the floor in the dark and peer through the hole in the gate at the men worshipping before the bright-lit alter in their casual dress. 

 

Alone. In the darkness. I cry. 

 

---

 

 

This is how you feel Lord.

This is the pain you feel for your people.

This is the pain you feel for your daughters.

This is the pain you feel for a large portion of the world.

My heart breaks. 

My heart breaks for what breaks yours. 

 

The Lord reminds me of His compassion for His people. His love for His people. his heartbreak for His people. His people everywhere. 

 

The Lord reminds me of a dream I had when I was little: 

It’s the gates of heaven and I am standing on the top of this cliff with Jesus looking down at the gorgeous golden gates of heaven. As we watch, all the people walk towards the gate of heaven on this bridge in the clouds, but before getting to the gate, they voluntarily jump off to the abyss below. 

 

I’ve always wondered what this dream meant and the Lord has spoken to me through my dreams throughout my whole life. He reminded me of this dream, what does this dream mean Lord?

 

I’m still processing the dream along with many other things I believe the Lord has been speaking to me since being in Turkey. Recognizing the things of my heart,  my desires, and what I am passionate about. 

 

This dream seems to me, people being so close but missing it.

To be so close but so far. 

To be so close to religion and tradition but so far away from abundant life. 

far away from grace and a life full of hope, peace, and joy. 

To be doing the works instead of resting in the love of the father, our creator. 

 

My heart aches, 

they’re so close.

 

My heart aches,

my eyes open. 

 

This is important.